


snapshots

by transatlanticism (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: (?), F/M, Songfic, Vignettes, poemfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 18:10:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15779364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/transatlanticism
Summary: “When I hold you in this night-soaked bed it is courage for the day I seek. Courage that when the light comes I will turn towards it. It couldn’t be simpler. It couldn’t be harder. In this little night-covered world with you, I hope to find what I long for; a clue, a map, a bird flying south, and when the light comes we will get dressed together and go.”-Jeanette Winterson, The World and Other Places: Stories





	snapshots

**Author's Note:**

> posted this on tumblr so why not
> 
> i wish i could write longer daverose but whenever i try i get insecure about it because everyone who writes this ship is so SMART

##  _When I hold you in this night-soaked bed it is courage for the day I seek._

The sun rises over the horizon and wakes him up slowly, light pouring in through the cracked blinds and drowning his pupils. The morning begins in gold-toned monotony, as it does every day, and wishing that the night lasted at least a bit longer than it had.

He turns over to look at her, her sleep-matted blonde hair and soft shoulders, stopping to study the freckles on her upper-back he hadn’t noticed before.

He sees some of himself in her.

He sees some of who he wishes he could be, and all of who he wishes he could love. Not that he doesn’t love her, but he knows that what they’re doing isn’t permanent.

Dave decides that Rose Lalonde is his sun.

He decides that the day is not determined by the earth’s rotation around the sun, but by how many mornings and nights he wakes up and falls asleep with her by his side.

##  _Courage that when the light comes I will turn towards it._

She remembers death.

Well, not exactly. She remembers facing death, those five minutes before the only universe they had ever known exploded into black and mistakenly birthed the power source of an entire subspace. Somehow, she understood more about herself in those five minutes than she had in her entire thirteen years of life previous. She knew they had a job to do, that it wasn’t about her, and that she was afraid of death after all.

Not necessarily afraid of the pain, as most deaths in the game were relatively instantaneous and predictable, but of what would become of her after the fact. A recent memory: her dreamself almost ceasing to exist, loneliness, the cold vastness of space, and a friend. She was almost swept out into the ocean of stars before them, but he grabbed her hand and locked her in with his eyes and a smile that didn’t quite reach past his lips. She doesn’t remember the moment she died, no, but she remembers sensing only his calloused hand in hers as she closed her eyes and faced oblivion.

##  _It couldn’t be simpler. It couldn’t be harder._

Too often they’d share secrets, whispered in the dark at that point in the night when reality becomes too blurred to connect thoughts with words. They’d been waiting for this moment since they were thirteen and didn’t know of anything but what they typed on the computer screen.

Now she was here, a physical entity representing what kept him whole when he was teenaged and disjointed, and he couldn’t imagine anything else but wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her, to ensure that she wouldn’t wake up and leave him, but mostly to keep himself physically grounded. She was easy to talk to, and he was easy to be vulnerable around.

She laid there with him on their makeshift bed, sometimes sharing whatever came to her head, sometimes sitting in comfortable silence. As sad as it was to admit, she’d felt more at home crying on his shoulder than anywhere else.

Falling asleep to the sound of him pouring the leftover wine down the drain, she managed a smile. 

##  _In this little night-covered world with you, I hope to find what I long for; a clue, a map, a bird flying south,_

He longs to find answers. She longs for a new beginning. They both get what they want in the end, hands clasped the entire journey, even if it means unclasping them when the occasion calls for it.

He sees her smile when she hugs their friends, and can’t help but think of all the times she was afraid. He never wants her to be afraid again.

He wraps his arms around her shoulders and isn’t afraid to give her a kiss on the cheek while thinking,

_‘Maybe we were lovers in another life.’_

Its a comforting thought. 

##  _and when the light comes we will get dressed together and go._

Their wordless exchanges have become routine, so much so that he understands more looking into her eyes than when she speaks in verbose tongue.

Today, he can tell that he’s thinking too much, always thinking too much, more than she needs to. Can’t she see its so simple? They plan, they wake up, they fight, they die. But she always insists on making poetry out of it, beauty out of tragedy. Her existence is the only beauty he needs to feel soothed.

They don’t talk in the morning. It wouldn’t have been their last words, that fact they know for certain.

But where they’re going after this lifetime is all said and done?

_Its all unknown._

_-_

Maybe next time. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading :)


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